The Final Seduction

by Sharon Kendrick

He shook his head. ‘No, that’s just the thing—I don’t. Certainly not on any sensible, rational level. Any more than I wish to have dinner with you. And yet at the same time there is nothing I want more, and the same goes for you, Shelley. If I go home and eat supper alone—or even with someone else—I’ll spend the whole evening thinking about you. Wondering about you. What your life has been and whether it’s lived up to all its promise.’

  ‘I’m flattered!’

  ‘Oh, don’t be!’ His mouth flattened. ‘It’s only like the scratching of an itch, or the slaking of a thirst. I don’t want you to be an enigma any more—so let’s have dinner as equals. Simple. An equal I can deal with.’

  ‘Deal with?’ she questioned uncertainly.

  ‘Sure. We both know that there is a sense of unfinished business between us, and don’t deny it, Shelley, because I can read in your eyes that you agree. It’s an interesting but rather annoying dilemma, isn’t it? For both of us to be drawn so irresistibly towards something we’d both rather forget? But at least this time my desire for you is not restricted by any outdated morals. So—’ he raised his brows ‘—dinner?’

  ‘What if I told you I’m not hungry?’

  ‘Then I’d be justified in calling you a liar!’ he retorted softly, staring down at the highest cheekbones he had ever seen on a woman. ‘But telling the truth was never your strong point, was it, Shelley?’ He stared down at the pinched paleness of her face. ‘You look bloody awful as it is—and I don’t want you collapsing on me.’

  ‘Why should you care whether I collapse or not, Drew?’

  ‘Care?’ He laughed, but it was the emptiest sound she had ever heard. “‘Care” wouldn’t be my word of choice, Shelley. Let’s just say that it’s about time we tied up the loose ends left over from our relationship once and for all. Maybe then we’ll both be free of whatever it is that still binds us.’

  ‘And for tying loose ends I presume you’re talking about sex?’

  ‘Well, I certainly don’t mean a restrained courtship,’ he answered cruelly. ‘Been there; done that!’

  ‘You are a hard, hard man!’ she shot back, then wished she could bite her words back as she saw his arrogant responding smile. She waited for some remark which was heavy with innuendo.

  But Drew was never predictable.

  ‘Just get out of the tub, Shelley,’ he growled as he swung out of the bathroom.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SHELLEY was covered in goosebumps as she climbed out of the bath once Drew had gone. She dipped her hand in and fished around in the soapy water to find the plug and let it out. The water was now almost completely cold! But her teeth stopped chattering once she had wrapped herself in the monstrous bathrobe which hung on the back of the door. She stood by the open door of the bathroom, put her head to one side, and listened.

  Nothing.

  Her breathing sounded magnified in her ears as she went back into the lilac bedroom, half expecting to see him arrogantly sprawled out on the shiny expanse of the bed, but the room looked empty.

  ‘Drew?’ Her voice sounded indistinct. ‘Are you still in here?’

  Feeling a little like an amateur detective, she even peeped behind the silky lilac curtains, until she had satisfied herself that he had definitely gone!

  Except that satisfied was probably as inappropriate a description for her as ‘care’ had been for him. She felt far from satisfied—more angry with herself and with him. And mixed up, too—because, yes, she still wanted Drew as much as he clearly wanted her. She had known that from the moment they had seen one another on the beach. Only this time he was not being held back by some old-fashioned sense of what was right. He had told her that, too, and with heartbreaking honesty.

  So why hadn’t he just pounced while she had been lying naked in the bath, getting turned on to an exquisite pitch by the things he was saying to her? It had been the perfect opportunity and he must have seen how vulnerable she was. He must have.

  She found herself wondering what would have happened if he had pounced. Would she have been able to resist him? She rubbed absently at her hair with the towel. Of course she would! She would be able to do anything she pleased, just as long as she had conviction!

  She looked at the luminous face of the clock-radio and yawned. It wasn’t as late as it seemed but she felt almost boneless with fatigue. She would try to sleep for a while and when he called to take her down to dinner she would politely tell him no. Yes, she would.

  She padded over to the bed and pulled back the coverlet, slipping between the deliciously crisp, clean sheets, topped with a soft drift of blankets. Her mind was buzzing so much that she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. But she closed her eyes anyway, and in her dreams she was still wearing Drew’s ring, and it felt good, and the next thing she knew was the shattering shrill of the telephone, right by her ear.

  She picked it up, disorientated and disappointed—aware that she still hadn’t got to the best bit of the dream, though she wasn’t quite sure what the best bit was. ‘Hello?’ she said groggily. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘This is your alarm call, kitten.’

  She yawned; it was the rich velvet voice from her dream. Still half-asleep, she said, ‘Mmm!’

  ‘Mmm, what?’

  ‘Mmm, what time is it?’

  ‘It’s nine o’clock.’

  ‘What, in the morning?’

  ‘No, Shelley. Still the evening. And the night is young.’

  She looked down at the clock for confirmation and then to the window facing her bed. She hadn’t bothered to draw the curtains and the evening sky was an inky-dark backdrop, studded with the pale points of stars.

  ‘Hungry?’ he questioned.

  ‘Starving,’ she admitted.

  ‘And you’re going to have dinner with me?’

  ‘Isn’t it too late to have dinner?’

  ‘We’re not quite that provincial down here,’ he commented drily.

  ‘What happens if I say no?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he mused. ‘Consider the alternative.’

  ‘Peace, you mean?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Shelley. The reality would be a table set for one, with everyone in the dining room wondering why such a beautiful woman was eating alone.’

  The beautiful woman comment pleased her far more than it had any right to. ‘But earlier you told me that I looked awful.’

  ‘Well, you did. But I’m sure you wash up well,’ he answered blandly.

  ‘I could always have a tray sent up to my room.’

  ‘Oh, come on—you’d spend the whole evening regretting it. Your heart just isn’t in it, Shelley. Admit it!’

  She wanted to tell him that he knew nothing about the contents of her heart, but she felt too sleepy and warm and comfortable to be able to compose something clever enough to dazzle him. And what would be the point of making a less than clever remark that he could easily obliterate with his caustic tongue?

  And he was right. Her heart wasn’t in it. She was only human. The luxurious life she had shared with Marco was now over. She had one night at the Westward and one night only—there would be plenty of meals on trays in front of the television in future!

  This would be the most fabulous opportunity to demonstrate her new-found sense of purpose—and to show Drew that loose ends would be tied only if she wanted them to be tied! That she was grown-up enough to resist him. Hadn’t she worked in one of the busiest art galleries in Milan, and resisted gorgeous men by the scoreful? ‘I’ll meet you downstairs,’ she told him briskly. ‘Give me half an hour.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting,’ he said softly, and put the phone down.

  She dressed, if not to kill, then certainly to maim. He had seen her at her very worst—now let him see the woman whom the exacting Marco Nero had been proud to escort to some of the most glitzy social functions in Italy!

  First, her make-up. She set it all out on the dressing table like an actress dressing for a part.

  Her skin need
ed practically nothing in the way of foundation, for it still carried a light tan, but she rubbed in a little concealer to get rid of the shadows underneath her eyes. It would be early nights after tonight, she decided grimly, brushing the heavy lids with a slick of silver colour and adding two coats of mascara onto the long, curling lashes. The result was startling. Starry aquamarine eyes sparkled back from the mirror.

  Next she slid on wisps of lavender-coloured underwear—a vivid underwired bra which gave her a show-stopping cleavage and a wispy little suspender belt with panties which matched. She turned her head to look at her rear view, and wriggled her lace-covered bottom experimentally, thinking that she co-ordinated very nicely with the room! Softly sheened stockings and strappy, high-heeled black shoes and she was almost ready.

  She knew exactly which dress to wear—the one which made her feel both attractive and unselfconscious. It was dark grey and starkly cut, and merely hinted at the body beneath—but there was no doubt that it was a very sexy dress indeed—in a cool, understated kind of way.

  She took a final glance in the mirror. Her newly washed hair had fallen into place now—with the highlights and lowlights merging to create one glorious, shimmering whole. She picked up her bag, locked the door behind her, and went downstairs to find Drew.

  The red-headed woman on the reception desk in the oak-panelled hall had been replaced by a sleek-looking young blonde.

  ‘Ah!’ She looked at Shelley with interest. ‘Miss Turner?’

  ‘That’s me!’ answered Shelley. ‘I’m impressed! Do you know all the guests by name?’

  ‘Of course we do,’ said the blonde smoothly. ‘We only have twelve rooms. Mr Glover said to tell you he’s waiting in the restaurant.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Mr Glover? Why did the blonde say his name with the kind of reverence she might have used if the President of the United States was eating dinner in her restaurant?

  But as soon as she saw Drew seated at the window table she wondered why she had bothered asking herself a question which was so fundamentally easy to answer.

  The blonde had spoken like that because, quite honestly, he looked like a million dollars. In fact, it took a moment or two for her to recognise him, but judging from the slightly bemused expression on his face it seemed that the feeling was mutual.

  Shelley blinked as he rose to his feet. He looked…well, he looked…unbelievable. Not just handsome. Not just strong. Or dependable. He looked smart. Drew Glover looked smart!

  ‘Hello, Shelley,’ he murmured, looking with wry amusement at the stark grey dress she wore. ‘What’s this—school uniform for big girls?’

  ‘I don’t know if the designer would be very pleased to hear you say that!’ She stared at him. ‘You’ve changed.’

  ‘So have you.’ His eyes narrowed at the expression of surprise on her face as she examined his suit close up. ‘Were you expecting me to eat in a place like this—’ and he jerked his head in the direction of the other tables ‘—wearing jeans and an old T-shirt?’

  A waiter appeared from out of nowhere and pulled her chair back, and Shelley slid into it, taking the leather-bound menu he offered her with a smile of thanks. But instead of running her eyes over the starters she found that they were still riveted on the man sitting opposite her.

  ‘I’m just not used to seeing you all dressed up,’ she said slowly.

  ‘You haven’t seen me for two years,’ he pointed out. ‘And you still haven’t told me whether you like it.’

  Like it? It was a bit of a shock to see such an essentially outdoor man wearing a jacket and tie and a pair of navy trousers which seemed to emphasise his long legs even more than the jeans had done. And the outfit was exceptionally well made, she noticed with surprise. So Drew no longer bought his suits off the peg. Had she thought he looked like a million dollars? Make that a million and a half!

  ‘Er, yes,’ she said stiltedly. ‘It looks very…um…smart.’

  ‘Damned with faint praise!’ he murmured.

  ‘Oh, dear! Does your ego need constant massaging, then, Drew?’ she enquired sweetly.

  Their eyes met.

  ‘Not my ego, no,’ he told her deliberately.

  Shelley flushed and leaned across the table. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, shall we?’ she said, in a low voice. ‘I may be in need of a square meal—but I’ll walk straight out of here and order toasted cheese in my room if you continue to make references to sex all evening!’

  ‘Sex?’ he enquired innocently. ‘Who mentioned sex? I thought we were talking about my ego?’

  ‘Well, it’s certainly big enough!’

  His mouth twitched. ‘Shelley—’

  ‘Don’t even say it, Drew!’

  He sat back in his seat and studied her. Her blue eyes looked as big as a fawn’s—she didn’t really need mascara, but then she never had. ‘I was right,’ he said. ‘You do wash up well.’

  ‘Why, thank you.’

  ‘Right—that’s the flirting out of the way.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Now what shall we talk about?’

  Shelley raised her eyebrows. ‘Flirting? Is that what we were doing? Rather an unsophisticated version of flirting, I would have thought.’

  ‘I bow to your superior knowledge, of course,’ he said mockingly.

  To Shelley’s everlasting relief, the waiter appeared. ‘Are you ready to order, Mr Glover?’

  ‘Not quite. Give us five minutes, would you, please?’

  The waiter went away again and Shelley quickly picked up her menu, then looked over the top of it into a pair of sapphire eyes. He certainly seemed at ease in such a lavish setting. ‘What is it with the Mr Glover bit?’ she asked him. ‘They seem to know you pretty well here. Don’t tell me you’re a regular, Drew?’

  ‘You’d find that surprising, would you?’

  ‘Well, yes, I would—to be honest.’

  His eyes were questioning. ‘Because?’

  ‘Well, it’s very expensive, isn’t it? And I know that you make a good living from carpentry, but…’ Her voice tailed off, slightly embarrassed, and he gave her another bright, searching stare which somehow had the ability to make her feel very uncomfortable indeed.

  ‘But I’m not Bill Gates, right?’

  She shrugged. ‘Right!’

  He slitted his eyes. ‘Like I said—I’ve done a lot of work for them over the years—and that’s how they know me. In fact—’ and he lowered his voice by a fraction ‘—they give me a discount, too!’

  ‘Oh, I see!’

  He smiled thinly. ‘So mind you look out for my handiwork!’

  She looked around the restaurant. It was full, which was surprising for a Sunday evening in October. Even more surprising was the fact that Shelley didn’t recognise one face in the place. Not one. And people were dressed in clothes which she instantly recognised as costly. A bit like Drew’s, she realised. It looked more like a big-city restaurant, she thought in surprise, than one perched on an isolated part of the south sea coast in a small village.

  ‘I don’t recognise any locals in here either,’ she observed.

  ‘They’re not. People travel some way to eat here. Great food, great view—with enormous beds upstairs should the urge take you.’ He looked at her deliberately. ‘What more could you ask for?’

  Shelley began to look around the room with an air of quiet desperation. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she had thought.

  ‘Anyway—I can tell you’ve worked here,’ she said brightly.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course I can! Somebody’s obviously been slogging their guts out on the place—and you always were a brilliant craftsman! This hotel always had the potential to be beautiful, but it needed lots of tender loving care spent on it. Now there has been, and it shows. Why, I expect they could almost employ you here full-time, couldn’t they, Drew?’

  He seemed to be struggling between controlling his temper and controlling his laughter. ‘Have you any idea,’ he asked eventu
ally, ‘just how patronising you sound?’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘Patronising?’ she echoed. ‘How on earth would that be patronising?’

  He gave a small shake of his head. ‘Doesn’t matter. Here comes the waiter. What do you want to eat?’

  Slightly bemused by the tone of his voice, Shelley glanced down at the menu. She noticed that she had been given a copy without any prices. Very slick. ‘It all looks good,’ she commented approvingly. ‘Small and simple.’

  ‘What were you expecting after Milan? A list of out-of-season food which was obviously destined for the microwave before it reached us?’ he enquired cynically.

  ‘You’re being very defensive, Drew!’

  ‘I wonder why?’ he mocked, then smiled at the waiter. ‘I’ll have the soup followed by the roast cod and chips, please. Shelley?’

  ‘Chef’s salad and a plain grilled sole, please,’ she answered automatically.

  ‘Scrub that. She’ll have the same as me,’ he told the waiter. ‘You know how women fuss so much about their weight! So unnecessary—particularly in your case, kitten.’ And he winked at her expansively across the table.

  ‘Yes, Mr Glover!’ The waiter smiled conspiratorially and scribbled the order down.

  Only good manners prevented her from arguing the toss, but once the waiter had gone Shelley felt like hurling the contents of the bread basket at him. She leaned across the table towards him. ‘I can’t believe you just did that,’ she hissed. ‘But then I’d forgotten just how over-bearing and domineering you could be!’

  ‘Don’t make a scene in public,’ he answered mildly.

  ‘Well, you started it!’

  ‘Trust me.’ He looked at her. ‘When did you last eat?’

  She thought back. ‘I had breakfast.’

  ‘Which was what?’

  ‘The usual. Fruit and yoghurt.’

  ‘Exactly. And since then you’ve driven from London to Milmouth, walked on the beach, had the trauma of going to your mother’s house, driven up here, bathed—’

  ‘You really have been spying on me, haven’t you, Drew?’

  He ignored that. ‘You can’t function properly if you don’t give your body the fuel it needs.’